


You don't wanna hurt yourself (by looking too closely)

by Elisexyz



Series: Looking too closely [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Past Grant Ward/Kara Lynn Palamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “Really? Do you kidnap people that often?” she shoots at him when he’s very quick to strap her to a chair using a couple of zip ties.“Technically, you came here willingly. This is more— false imprisonment,” he says, calmly.Or the AU in which Ward is a retired spy who makes a living as an assassin for hire, Simmons patches him up and Skye is in way over her head.





	You don't wanna hurt yourself (by looking too closely)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this AU for a while, and- let's face it, this will be a series. The second one-shot is basically done, and tbh the idea was making it a multichapter period, but I am not too good at those, so I'll. try this way.  
>  This first fic's purpose is just showing the first meeting and how it goes down, as a starting point. This is intended as Skyeward (a slow-burn, if you can call a 'slow-burn' something that starts with them sleeping together), but I am a huge multishipper (which. probably also explains the past Ward/Kara ops) and my love for Jemma and Ward is 100% going to bleed all over the place, so they have a pretty deep friendship :P  
>  In this AU, there was no uprising and Hydra slowly merged with SHIELD without anyone noticing. We just have one big, shady organization.  
>  This is also the same AU that I was referring to when I said that [this ficlet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13535934/chapters/31101033) was intended as part of a verse I was working on. It was written when I was about half-way into this first fic, but I guess it should be placed somewhere after the second-fic-that-will-soon-see-the-light-of-day.  
>  If you want, you can find me on Tumblr as [heytheredeann](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com). Uh, enjoy?

“Hey,” a woman says, smiling charmingly at him. “Is this seat taken?”

Grant waits a couple of seconds before shaking his head and gesturing for her to sit. She keeps smiling brightly and she orders a cocktail.

She’s beautiful, that’s something that would be pretty hard not to notice. She’s sitting with her body slightly turned towards him, her arms on the counter headed towards his general direction as well. She keeps trying to make eye-contact, and eventually Grant offers a slight smile back, because part of him wasn’t really looking forward to spending the whole night drinking alone. It’s a sad scenario, no matter how many times you live it.

Apparently, that smile was the cue she was waiting for.

“So, do you come here often?” she asks. She’s still smiling brightly, as if it was the best day of her life, and Grant lets out a chuckle at the awful pick-up line.

“Really?” he asks, amused, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, he speaks!” she rejoices. “And no, that wasn’t a sad pick-up line. I’m just not from around here and _that_ cocktail is the only thing that I’ve been assured tastes good, I was wondering if you had any other suggestions.”

He clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Sorry. I’m afraid that I’m a boring guy who always orders the same Whiskey.”

“Mmh, that’s too bad,” she pouts. She extends her hand. “I’m Skye.”

He eyes the hand briefly, because he’s a paranoid bastard and he did stumble across a woman who liked to hide needles in her sleeves once, but when he doesn’t see anything suspicious he shakes it. “Grant,” he replies.

Skye, as it turns out, talks a lot. Grant doesn’t have a regular job or a social circle, the one who keeps him company is usually Jemma, but he doesn’t need to actually _listen_ to all that science bubble that he wouldn’t understand anyway, and those times when he hooked up with some girls at a bar neither of them was particularly interested in conversation after a while, he just needed to charm them long enough for it to feel somewhat _decent_ to have some sex.

When it’s the other way around and he just needs to let _them_ chat him up, it’s actually more complicated. If he’s got it all under control he’s good, but a woman approaching him first automatically raises a red flag, because there’s a 50% chance that the encounter wasn’t random at all.

Even in that scenario, usually women are as interested in the preliminary small talk as he is.

But Skye seems to _love_ the sound of her own voice.

She does seem genuine, in everything she says down to the way she moves. Her body language keeps being open, and she even starts shifting closer to him, as much as the seat will allow her. She asks him a couple of questions to not keep the conversation one-sided, but they seem harmless enough, she lets him get away with brief answers and she doesn’t seem to mind going back to leading the conversation, at all.

He learns that she’s visiting some friends and that she’s staying at their place. She’s very excited because her mother can be a bit overprotective – “I mean, I love her, she’s amazing and she loves me _a lot_ , but we’ve always been there for each other, you know, and I think that when she sees me leave even if for a brief trip she feels, like, abandoned or something and she worries because she won’t be there for me like she’s always been.” – so she doesn’t get to go on many holidays.

“What about you?” she asks, playing with the straw in her drink. “Parents?”

“No,” he replies, keeping his face in check to not show how much of a sore point that is. “My father died a couple of years back,” he adds. John is the only one that he’ll refer to as a father figure, without specifying all the technicalities of the case because it’s not really the place. Or a subject he likes to touch without a very good reason. He kinda has _many_ sore points.

“I’m very sorry,” she says, and she does look sympathetic as she reaches for his hand. He lets her, rewarding her with a small smile and a ‘thanks’ as soon as he decides that okay, he’ll have to test the waters a bit more to be at least somewhat sure that she’s not there on SHIELD’s behalf, but he wants to sleep with her. After all, sex is a good way as any to drown his sorrows, and at least he won’t wake up with a royal headache tomorrow.

She effortlessly keeps the conversation going, without commenting on how Grant has started participating more: she talks about her mother and the amazing birthday cakes she cooks, she states that she really wants to try some Indian take-out one of these days, wishes that she’ll someday be able to visit Europe because it sounds like a whole other world— Throughout all her ramblings, Grant doesn’t really seem to be able to sense any red flag. She genuinely looks like she just wants to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.

So when she asks him, pretty straightforwardly, if he’s interested in taking their night a step further, he takes her up on it.

Of course, they can’t go to her friends’ house, and he lives nearby. She offers to pay for a room somewhere if he lives too far away. He decides that, well, if she turns out to be a spy after all he could always shoot her. Not in the face, because it’d be an awful waste, but still.

For now, he’s going to enjoy that bright smile of hers and the way her hands keep lingering on him.

 

 

It takes more than some good sex to knock him out completely.

Admittedly, she was _really_ good, enough that in the heat of the moment he totally considered making this a two or three-time thing – which would be convenient because she’ll leave town sooner or later, but for a part of him it would feel too much like cheating.

Still, when she quietly gets up from the bed, he immediately wakes up. He doesn’t show any sign that he’s not unconscious anymore: he stays perfectly still, his breath even and his eyes closed. He fell asleep facing her, so he waits until he’s heard her footsteps taking her away before carefully cracking one eye open to see what she’s doing.

Skye quickly gets her panties and a t-shirt on – which happens to be _his_ t-shirt, just to make the whole thing into a ridiculous parody of a domestic morning-after in a romantic movie – before approaching his desk and opening up his laptop.

He feels like an idiot. There must have been _something_ that he missed.

Hell, maybe the total absence of red flags was a red flag in itself. Maybe he should have interpreted the fact that she was so willing to carry out most of the conversation as a manipulation to make him think that she didn’t want to know anything about him, when that was exactly her objective.

Either way, whatever he missed he’s an idiot. And she’s really good at her job, count him as impressed and irritated in equal measure.

He’s good at moving without making a sound, and Skye – if that’s even her real name; it does sound a bit ridiculous to begin with – is too concentrated on getting past his password to notice as he reaches for his gun hidden under the bed and he gets up.

He doesn’t encounter any difficulties sneaking up on her and pressing the barrel of the gun against her back.

She’s obviously startled, and she slowly raises her hands up. “Is that a gun or is that your way of telling me you want another round?” she jokes, after a couple of seconds.

“Get up,” he cuts her off. “Hands where I can see them. Try anything, and I shoot. Clear?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re clear. Jesus, I can explain, no need to be this— psycho,” she protests, and it weren’t for her slightly trembling hands and her rigid stance he’d totally buy that whole ‘I laugh in the face of danger’ act.

Hell, she _fooled_ him. He wasn’t completely sure, but he would have bet good money that she wasn’t a spy. It’s _bugging_ him.

He single-handedly gets some pants on without tearing his eyes off her, and she’s obviously trying not to stare at the gun pointed at her head – he still isn’t mad enough to shoot her in the _face_ , it’s more for show than anything else.

She seems to be more comfortable making a joke out of everything than she is with tense silence, judging by the sarcastic “ _Really?_ Do you kidnap people that often?” she shoots at him when he’s very quick to strap her to a chair using a couple of zip ties.

“Technically, you came here willingly. This is more— false imprisonment,” he says, calmly. It actually isn’t related to any real strategy, he just wants to mess with her a bit. The woman just talked her way into his house, he’s entitled to playing with his food a little.

“Oh, so you know the law, you just ignore it. Fantastic,” she comments, as he double checks the zip ties before standing up, gun still in hand.

She’s not-so-subtly fighting against the restraints, but there’s no tactic, no movement that would actually help her breaking free. She’s more like a caged and frightened animal. Which is weird for a spy.

He could try just staring her down until she starts talking just to break the silence, if she really is untrained. But _is_ she? She fooled him, and she _was_ trying to access his computer. He’d better just assume that she’s playing a role.

Which means that whatever read he got on her up until now could be completely wrong. He decides to go for a direct approach: leading her with questions at least will give him more material to go on, and if he assumes that she’s keeping a cover he’ll probably manage to find the cracks. He _was_ one of SHIELD’s best, after all.

“Who are you working for?” he asks, slowly. She’s maintaining eye contact, probably to appear confident, but she’s way too rigid. “And how did you find me?”

“I’m working for _me_ ,” she says, looking at him like he’s bat-shit crazy. “And I found you sitting pitifully alone in a bar— I’m actually starting to see _why_ you are single.”

He might just try waterboarding for the fun of it, if she makes another comment on his love life – _yes_ , another sore point.

He inhales, turning his defensive reaction into annoyance. “Look,” he says, offering a smile that probably comes across as creepy, considering the situation. “You were trying to access my computer. The reason why you are still breathing is that I want some answers. Give them to me and—”

“You’ll make it quick?” she completes. There isn’t enough sarcasm in the world to cover the way her eyes keep running to the gun – that he’s not even pointing anymore –, but he’ll appreciate the effort.

The more seconds pass, the more she looks like a scared kid who’s in way over her head. The cover theory still stands, but she might also have been recruited to do SHIELD’s dirty work. Not a bad plan: it’d be more difficult to realize the trick if they sent someone who hasn’t been cut from the same cloth as him. She might just be one of those street kids in desperate need of belonging – like he had once been.

“What’s your name?” he asks. It’s a simple enough question, she might accidentally give something away.

“I _told_ you,” she answers, after a brief pause. She sounds like she genuinely thinks he’s crazy. “It’s Skye.”

“What’s your _real_ name?” he insists.

“Oh,” she scoffs. “Oh, _no_ , I am _not_ confessing to my childhood traumas on our first date, sorry.”

And again with the jokes, great. She hasn’t stopped struggling against the restraints, but there’s still no strategy behind her movements, she hasn’t scanned the room looking for a way out, she hasn’t even been glancing at the door as if hoping for someone to snoop in – but then again, SHIELD higher-ups aren’t big on extractions, are they?

She just keeps looking at the gun, as if she had never been at the barrel of one. Everything seems to point to the ‘scared kid in way over her head’ theory. But _then again_ , everything seemed to point to the ‘innocent one-night stand’ before he found her sitting at his desk. Jesus Christ.

“I don’t know what you are protecting them for,” he scoffs. Trying the ‘scared kid sent by SHIELD with no training whatsoever’ route can’t hurt. If that’s the case, he’s confident that he can get her to turn on them. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds, as gently as he can manage. “But they know I _can_. And they don’t _care_ , because you are just a pawn in their game. They hung you out to dry.”

He's working under the assumption that she doesn’t have a team to back her up, otherwise they would have barged in by now.

She blinks. “Who is _they_?” she asks, slowly, her eyes narrowing. “This is getting _so_ weird,” she mumbles, before he can answer. She lets out a chuckle that sounds borderline hysterical, bumping her back against the chair as in a last desperate attempt to get free. “I just needed some money, and now you are standing there with a stupid gun— and you are— you are just standing there, talking about this mysterious ‘ _they’_ and you should just go around with a sign that says to stay away because I totally wasn’t expecting—”

“Wait, wait,” he quickly interrupts, frowning in confusion at the flood of words. What he’s sure that she mentioned is needing _money_. Does that mean that she got paid to do something but she wasn’t even told who she was going up against? But then, why the confusion at the ‘they’? Was it a single agent who presented themselves as an enemy with a grudge? Or maybe it wasn’t SHIELD at all? “Who gave you the money?” he prompts.

“ _Nobody_ ,” she shouts, and really, she seems terrified. “I was trying to _take_ it.”

He blinks. “From my computer?” he guesses. He hates playing catch-up.

“Yes,” she says. “If I had known that you were this _crazy_ I would have picked someone else.”

Oh, well. If she’s telling the truth – and he’s _not_ assuming that she is this time –, this wasn’t even about him at all, the girl just made the worst choice ever when it comes to a scam victim.

He decides not to tell her anything, just staring and playing with his gun. He puts up a thoughtful act, trying to get her to assume that he’s deciding if it’d be a good idea to shoot her at this point, in the hopes that the panic and her seemingly distaste for silence will push her to add something more.

It works.

“Look, Grant— Grant, I’m sorry, I promise I would have just taken 50 bucks, tops,” she starts saying. “I’m pretty sure the other guys hardly _noticed_.”

“So this is a habit?” he asks. He briefly contemplates putting on in a bit of a judgemental tone, but he’s the one holding her at gunpoint, no moral high ground in sight. Not that he’s _actually_ judging: his work is far less noble, at least stealing from men’s computers doesn’t involve any blood.

“I prefer to call it a job,” she answers. She still looks fairly distressed. “Look, I’m an hacker, I can— I could hack some stuff for you, maybe those people that you kept going on about. I promise, I’m _good_.”

She surely isn’t totally clueless when it comes to reading situations: she seems to have caught up on the fact that letting her go doesn’t sit well with him, that it’d for some reason be a huge risk, and that he’d need a _very_ good reason to let her go. _Why_ is he even thinking about this, again?

“The problem, _Skye_ ,” he says, sighing. “Is that I have too much to lose and no reason to believe you.” He’s _not_ looking forward to getting locked up – best case scenario – and he does happen to think that the girl is absolutely stunning and that the fact that she managed to fool him is impressive, as much as irritating— it’s still not enough to risk letting her walk.

At first, she doesn’t seem to be able to find any words, she just sends him a pleading look.

“Please, just— Grant, you are obviously a good guy, just let me go,” she finally says.

Oh God. He almost bursts out laughing at that. A _good_ guy. He’s afraid he’s left ‘good’ behind a couple of dozens of dead bodies ago. He’s a killer. Literally the _only_ thing that he knows how to do is squeezing the life out of someone both in traditional and very creative ways. That’s it.

“I really am not,” he assures.

“You haven’t killed me yet,” she points out, trying to display confidence.

“I like to take my sweet time.”

But hell, he’s stalling.

Under SHIELD, he killed under orders, mostly other soldiers from smaller organizations trying to get the upper hand however they could. Tactical gear, armed to the teeth, it wasn’t difficult to forget that they’re all human and not robots.

Now he kills for money, but the kind of people who pay for his services don’t ask him to go after innocent housewives: he basically gets scum out of the way of other scum. He sometimes plays hero and takes out bastards on the street, like some sort of vigilante, but that mostly happens because of _coincidences_.

Most of the time, he gets paid for espionage work, not actual hits, and it frustratingly feels like nothing’s changed.

But right now he has a scared strange woman tied to a chair, and her pleading eyes will probably haunt him for eternity if he does this. Problem is, he doesn’t have a _choice_. It’s a risk he can’t take, not if he wants half a chance at getting to his end-game. He needs his _freedom_ for that, and if SHIELD gets him he’ll be lucky if he gets a cage.

“I really could hack stuff for you, you know,” she tries again.

“If you at least hadn’t seen where I _live_ —” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead. Dammit, he should have let her pay for a room somewhere. When he thought that he’d just off her he was expecting a _spy_ , not a terrified wanna-be scammer, come _on_.

Unless she _is_ a spy.

“Oh, so it’s _my_ fault now,” Skye scoffs, in disbelief.

“ _You_ are the one who tried to rob me.”

“ _You_ are the one with the gun.”

Well. “I have my reasons to do this,” he says, sternly. 

“As do I,” she shoots back.

“Meaning?”

“Well, I’m good at hacking. And I like having fun— why not take both and make a living out of it?”

Yeah, it appears that she’ll be making a _death_ out of it, considering that his reasons for not wanting to let her get out on her own legs aren’t really as cheap.

He could just move. Pack his things, go to another city— he’s actually spent a lot more time than planned here. But there’s an insane amount of work for him around, and Jemma is a good ally in this. He doesn’t _need_ her all that often, but she is there when he does, and sometimes she even shows up to offer when he doesn’t.

She wouldn’t be pleased if he just decided to disappear. Though she’d probably appreciate the sentiment behind it, considering that she surely is the type to appreciate his noble gesture of sparing Skye’s life.

He doesn’t _want_ to kill her. He’ll either be killing an innocent woman as a precaution, which he _could_ do, he knows he’s capable – “We are specialists; cold blood is a basic requirement,” John used to say –, he’s just not particularly fond of the idea and he’d much rather find an alternative solution than risking it, or he’ll be offing a _really_ good SHIELD spy.

He’s good at reading people. It comes naturally and it’s been perfectioned through years of training. And _yet_ he can’t seem to be reasonably sure of what he’s dealing with. His gut is telling him that she’s clean. But it’s too _big_ of a risk, the woman successfully _deceived_ him.

“I need you to dig up some information for me,” Grant finally says. Stalling and pushing the decision probably isn’t the best solution, or one that he’s particularly proud of, but he might as well avoid himself some legwork on his latest mark while he decides if not killing her is worth risking blowing everything to hell.

“Sure,” Skye immediately answers, sending her brightest and most charming smile his way. “I’ll just need my hands free and I’m good to go.”

Next time, he’s going for booze and hangover.

 

 

“What did you say you need this for, again?” she asks, casually. Her feet are still strapped to the chair, and she’s working on his second computer, one with no personal information on it.

“I didn’t,” he replies, sharply, hovering over her shoulder to try and keep an eye on her, even if he is aware that he can’t possibly follow everything that she’s doing. Putting her in front of a computer is a risk: if she’s with SHIELD, she might find a way to signal them.

Still, he wanted to see if she really is good. And if she _doesn’t_ signal anybody, it’s a good indicator that she might be here on her own after all.

He also suspects that if she’s a spy her job was to get information, not to bring them to him for a frontal confrontation: why risking losing agents when they can just send one person to find out what aliases he’s using these days? If there had been a team ready to storm in, they would have done so earlier, when he was distracted. A tracker on her clothes, a team following them, and here you go.

But he knows that it’s unlikely, because he has the skills to kill a whole team of agents, and they know it.

“Bah, the guy is a saint— charities, donations, the whole deal,” Skye comments. “Don’t tell me you want to kill him. Are you a hitman? That would explain the gun.”

“None of your business,” Grant states. “And there are no _saints_.”

“Bitter and cynical,” Skye mutters, and it’s incredible how much more relaxed she got as soon as he let her get her hands on a computer. A part of him worries that it’s because she’s up to something. “Hey, this might take a while, any chance you’ll offer me some breakfast before killing me?” Skye asks, offering an innocent smile as she turns towards him.

She’s— nuts. The word is ‘nuts’. You don’t ask if the guy keeping you at gunpoint can offer you _breakfast_.

He finds himself scoffing, half-way between disbelief and amusement.

“You can’t seriously think that I’ll leave you alone in my bedroom.”

She shrugs. “If you untie me, we can move to the kitchen,” she points out. “Come on, I don’t work as efficiently on an empty stomach. Pretty please?”

Which is how, a few minutes later, Grant finds himself gripping her arm and keeping his gun pressed against her back as she carries the computer to the kitchen.

It’s been a while since he’s had someone over for breakfast, and the most sophisticated thing he can offer are cereals. She seems to appreciate them though, eating voraciously as she keeps typing.

“You don’t want any?” she asks, casually, as if they were just having breakfast between friends.

“I’m not hungry,” he says, sharply. Killing possibly innocent girls in the early morning tends to screw with his appetite.

He makes it an habit of trusting his instincts, and they are yelling that she’s just a thief who chose the wrong target. But those are the same instincts that were positive she was sincere the previous night.

He’s also— intrigued. It’s been a while since someone has managed to _fool_ him, the last person who managed to steal his control over the situation was Kara. Not by _deceiving_ him, yeah, but she was still the last one who managed to get the upper hand. John used to say that she had him wrapped up around her finger.

Skye reminds him of Kara, under a certain light, and maybe that’s why he seems to be so viscerally opposed to just shooting her and compartmentalizing it later. In spite of the life they lived, Kara always had this innocent side of her, the one that made her still somewhat of an optimist, the one that made her look at him with such genuine trust and adoration even if she’d seen him soaked in blood, towering over dead bodies, strangling people with his hands. Skye, asking for breakfast and intermittently forgetting that he’s holding her at gunpoint, reminds him of Kara’s smile.

And now that he’s voiced the similarities,  he _can’t_ unsee it. Dammit.

“Here, this is his private calendar,” Skye announces, smiling triumphantly at him as if waiting for a compliment. Maybe he’s overestimated her ability to read the situation, because she doesn’t seem to be thinking about how now that she’s helped him he has no reason to keep her alive.

Except his damn sentimentalism, that is – “Always the soft touch,” John used to say, somewhat affectionately.

“Good,” he says, taking the computer from her. What the hell does he _do_ now?

“Need anything else?” she asks. “You know, normally I would ask for a little compensation, but since you are pretty and you asked nicely it’s all for free. You are welcome.”

Can she just _stop_ smiling?

“I have to make a phone call,” he blurts out, quickly. He’s going to regret this. “Stay here. Don’t touch anything.”

Skye blinks sarcastically – how did she manage to make a _blink_ look _sarcastic_? – and scoffs. “Alright, guess I’ve been promoted to house dog.” He glares. “Okay, okay, I’ll stay. Good Skye,” she assures, visibly relaxing as the seconds pass.

Grant inhales, closing his eyes for a brief second before taking out the phone and pressing number one on his speed dial – he doesn’t talk to many people, after all.

“ _Hello?”_

“Jemma, it’s me,” he says, closing the door behind him.

“ _I swear, if you are bleeding out somewhere I’ll leave you there. It’s too early in the morning for this_ ,” she complains, but they both know that she’s probably ready to jump off the bed and run to him before he ‘gets himself killed while pulling some bloody reckless stunt’, to use her words.

“I’m fine,” he quickly assures. “I just have— a small problem. It’s better if you stay away from me for a while.”

“ _Are you in trouble?”_ He scoffs, and he can almost feel her eye-roll. “ _More than usual, I meant_ ,” she corrects.

“It’s just a precaution. Don’t swing by my house, just pretend you don’t know me until I come to you first.”

If he’s going to let Skye go – and he’s starting to resign himself to the fact that he probably _will_ –, he has to at least attempt to take some precautions, in case she actually was sent by SHIELD. First step is sleeping in the car: there’s no way he’ll trap himself in an apartment that might have been compromised. Second step is making sure that Jemma stays away from him: if it turns out that he has to leave town, he’d rather not drag her down with him. Or have her caught in the crossfire.

“ _Alright_ ,” she says, slowly. “ _May I ask what’s going on?”_

He sighs, and it gets mixed with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m about to take a very stupid risk because I’m an idiot.”

“ _How is that news?”_ she scoffs. “ _You are not about to get yourself killed, are you?”_ she adds, more seriously.

“Hopefully not,” he mumbles. Then he realizes that it totally sounds like he’s going out on a suicidal mission and that Jemma is probably about to yell at him, so he adds: “I brought a woman to my apartment, and I’m not completely sure that she isn’t a spy. Safest route would be to kill her and get it over with.”

“ _But inside you are a teddy bear, I know_ ,” she completes, sounding less tense. “ _Is she pretty?”_ she asks, jokingly.

“Is it relevant?”

“ _You are a man, it probably is_.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t answer. “I’ll let you know when things clear up,” he finally says.

“ _Alright_ ,” Jemma says, thoughtfully. “ _Be careful, remember that you are not bulletproof and I’m very glad that you are having some faith in humanity for a change_ ,” she adds, affectionately.

He shakes his head, and they quickly say goodbye before hanging up.

He doesn’t have ‘faith in humanity’, he’s just praying that his gut is right about this one and that it’s not just all about Kara’s ghost lingering around.

When he goes back to the kitchen, Skye is still sitting where he left her, but her smile is too wide and innocent for him to believe that she actually hasn’t moved an inch.

“I believe you,” he announces. “I’ll let you go, but if I ever see you again, _ever_ , even if it’s in a grocery store, I won’t be as merciful. Clear?”

“Crystal,” she announces, happily, immediately standing up. “Can I keep the t-shirt though? It’s comfortable,” she adds, jokingly.

The more seconds pass, the more he’s convinced that he should just off her. What’s a little more blood?

But God, she’s even wearing his clothes, the way Kara used to. It’s like a stupid _conspiracy_.

“If I find them at my door,” he adds, just so that they are absolutely clear. And probably also in the hopes to make that stupid smile disappear from her face. “I _will_ find you and you _will_ regret it.”

Skye blinks. “ _Wow_ ,” she exhales, raising her eyebrows. “Do you need a hug?”

He swears, she has selective amnesia or something. She seems to have completely forgotten that he was holding her at gunpoint not so long ago. He _still_ could shoot her.

He _should_. He’s a damn idiot.


End file.
